Grieve and Move On
by CheshireGrinn
Summary: In a rare moment of freedom, Sorina Cousland finally feels her grief of her lost parents. Alistair sympathizes. F!COUSLAND/ALISTAIR FRIENDSHIP; ONE-SHOT.


**AN-OKAY! Trying my hand at something completely different this time! I love Dragon Age. I love them. Alistair specifically. He's such a sweetie. And, while both games have like EPIC story-telling, sometimes I find myself a little empty, like they just skip over scenes. I find it hard to believe that after leaving your mother and father to what was probably a horrid death, there wasn't much grieving. SO, like every other time I'm not satisfied, I fix it! Hence this.  
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**Just a tiny scene that would take place after getting Morrigan and going to Lothering, but before recruiting Sten. So, enjoy, and please review!  
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**There may possibly be more to come! :D  
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**.:Grieve and Move On:.**

"Have you seen Sirona?"

Morrigan scoffed, "Tis not _my_ responsibility to keep up with her."

Alistair eyed the witch drily, before shaking him head as he set off for the outskirts of Lothering, muttering to himself, "All you had to say was _no_."

Outside of the main cluster of buildings in Lothering, which was primarily full of poor refugees that tugged at his heartstrings, fields stretched for miles. It was like a golden ocean, each stalk of wheat swaying just slightly in the breeze. It was beautiful, and made him forget, for just a moment, that absolutely everything was crashing down around him.

Far off, near the small pond that had gathered under the rocks just to the left, he could see the form of his fellow Grey Warden. She was tall and statuesque, her hair just a few shades darker than the fields of grain around her. She was headed for the water, so he followed after.

When he got close, he stopped, just watching her. She had left her armor back in town, in the safe keeping of Morrigan and her trusted Mabari—which, he realized, was weird in and of itself, and probably not safe for the hound or her armor—and stood in the simple top and breeches that form a barrier between the heavy metal and her soft skin. Or, well, he assumed it was soft, as it certainly looked soft. She bent at the waist, shoulder length, winter gold hair shifting with the movement, as she searched through the rounded rocks of the shore for a moment. She would stand again when she found a suitable specimen, which appeared to be a thin, round rock, and she'd then throw it with ease. He watched once, twice, three times as the rocks sailed across the surface.

"You're pretty good at that."

She looked over her shoulder, her steel blue eyes surprised, as she smiled slightly. The gesture was tinged with pain, and he could see it in swimming in her eyes, and she opened her mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it again. He waited patiently; she'd listened to him earlier that day, as he spoke of Duncan.

She began again, looking out over the water, but her eyes were far away, "Father…used to take me on campaigns with him, in the summer. Every summer, since forever. He taught me _many_ things…how to swim, how to ride a horse, how to make a fire…" Her eyes suddenly came back, and she motioned weakly to the water, "How to skip rocks."

He nodded, smiling slightly himself, "He sounds like a great man."

"He…" She stalled, her eyes moistening, "_was_. He was a great man. A very, very great man."

Alistair could sense she was holding back, and after she had prodded him until he had talked about Duncan, he couldn't leave Sirona to her own mind. He had truly felt better after, and perhaps she would as well.

"Sirona," He murmured, taking a step forward, "you can talk to me."

Her eyes darted to his form, before she looked back over the water and took a deep, shuddering breath. She lifted a long, lithe hand to her face, pushing her bangs from her face, "He's gone. That great man is gone. He is gone. And Mother…even for all her meddling, she…_was_ my mother. She's gone." She pressed the other hand to the other side of her face as the tears began to fall, "They are gone, and they aren't ever coming back. I'll never see them again. Never again…"

She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders slumped. He was almost alarmed, so used to her strong, take-charge manner, and to see her break was both terrifying and heart-wrenching. He placed a heavy palm on her shoulder and squeezed. He had no words, he had little comfort to offer, and could only give that he was there and would be. They were the last Grey Wardens of Ferelden; there was loyalty in that, if nothing else.

Sirona straightened, placing her hand over his and squeezing it tightly, before wiping her face on her sleeve. Her cheeks were blotchy, her nose and eyes red, but she took a cleansing breath, "Look at me. You…didn't have your parents. I'm sure the last thing you want to do is listen to me complain about mine. At least I had them, for however short a time."

"It's fine," Alistair smiled reassuringly. "It's the very least I could do."

She smiled back, sniffling a little as she wiped her nose again. She clucked her tongue, chuckling, "Oh, I can just bet that Duncan would _love_ our whining, just as much as Father would."

He chuckled himself, "Indeed."

"Let's get back," Sirona said, stretching. "I just hope Morrigan hasn't turned Auf into a _toad_ yet. That would be dreadful, and not _nearly_ as helpful against Darkspawn."

"I should think not," He grinned.

She leaned down, cupping water into her hands and splashing it on her face. As she tried to flip her hands clean, a bit of water splashed up on her arm, and he got an idea.

"You did that on purpose."

She looked up, all wide, curious eyes, and found his playfully suspicious face. She blinked, "I did not!" And then, in a lightning quick move, she bent and scooped up a handful of water, throwing it right up into his face. She grinned as he wiped it away from his eyes, "I did that time."

"Why you—!" Alistair laughed, bending and launching a handful of water at her. Sirona tried to dodge, squealing as some of the cold water hit the back of her neck, and thus began a full-out water war.

The female Warden was knee deep in water, mostly soaked, while her male counterpart had ditched most of his armor to guard the shore and prevent her from leaving. They were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

"What in the _world_?" Morrigan scolded, standing with her hands on her hips as the wet pair blinked widely at her. She was not happy, and sighed heavily, "_Children_, tis it _really_ a good time to go for a _swim_? Not as if a Blight is looming over us, no, not at all. And you flea-bidden hound, leave me _be_!"

Morrigan threw her hands up in the air, and Sirona called out with a mischievous grin, "Yes, _Mother_."

"Oh, tis there any mercy in the universe, such a thing would never happen," Morrigan snorted, and Alistair watched Sirona closely. The flash of pain when through her eyes at the mention of her mother, but she swallowed it and stepped out of the water, ringing her hair out.

She flashed him the brightest of grin as she jogged to catch up with the witch and the hound, and he found himself smiling, happy for the first time in a long while.


End file.
